


Keep Him Safe

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-02 18:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Why is Mycroft associated with Jim Moriarty?





	1. It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and James Moriarty meet up. Mycroft takes the lead

James Moriarty has been a 'bad boy' since his teens. Drugs lightly tried, stealing, running a numbers game, and now a huge organization of which he is head. But, he’s never directly linked to any of the activities. And never apprehended.

* * *

I have a younger brother Sherlock, who has partnered with an Army man, Doctor John Watson. The two of them have found common ground in working on criminal cases which Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade throws their way.

* * *

James Moriarty is one to love challenges as my brother does and begins to entice him and John to solves these small crimes he has configured for them.

* * *

Surveying Jame's files and keeping a watchful eye on his goings-on I understand that Jim fancies Sherlock, no, obsesses over him. He covets Sherlock for his bed.

* * *

I have to get this Moriarty person out of the way. Divert him.

* * *

At first, I have two agents in mind to seduce him, but after careful consideration, I come up with one. And that one is me.

* * *

As Mycroft Holmes, an official in the British government, I'm what is considered an example of perfect British cultivation, polish, and refinement. I've always walked a straight line. And so, this seduction has to be worked out subtly. Otherwise the astute Jim will see through this deception.

Finding out he visits the Claridge Hotel's restaurant frequently; I phone the maitre de, and for a considerable sum of money to him, he will inform me by text when James enters the restaurant the next time.

* * *

Two weeks later the text shows on my mobile. It's five in the evening, and I rush out of my office, into my car, to enter the hotel restaurant.

* * *

I approach Jame's table slowly as if moving to a table of my own. Reaching out a hand to grab my jacket," Mycroft Holmes, isn't it?"

          "Yes?" tentatively pretending not to be familiar with him.

          "Sherlock Holmes brother? Am I right?"

          "Yes, he is my brother."

          "Are you're here by yourself?"

          "Yes. You appear to know me but-"

          "Oh, sorry," he stands to shake my hand," James Moriarty. I'm a great fan of your brother. Why not join me tonight. I'm unaccompanied."

He pulls out a chair, and I show hesitancy in sitting but take the seat offered.

          " As you see I haven't started to eat yet. What will you have to drink Mycroft? And may I call you by your given name?"

          "Yes, Mycroft is fine, if I can do the same with Jim, or do you prefer James. White wine would be suitable for me, thank you."

          "James it is then, Mycroft," and we each receive a menu from the waiter.

* * *

James and I order our meal, wine poured as we each assess the other.

* * *

I'm careful to make eye contact and give off the impression of approval in what I see in him.

          "Do you dine here often? It's one of my favorite places to eat."

Even though this is above James' income he's very at ease in the luxury of the surroundings, wearing a dark blue suit, silk pink shirt, multi color tie.

          "I despise eating alone, one of the predicaments of always traveling. Although when I do it's always dinners with politicians, ambassadors, and the conversation is nothing short of boring."

He's easily impressed with the magnetism of the upper class, the elite, as I affirm by the raising of his eyebrows when I announce my companions.

* * *

Of course, he tries to pry out of me much about Sherlock. I keep it vague but engrossing enough to keep him spellbound.

* * *

My eyes drift to his hands, his face, making a point of subtly licking my lips as I take a sip of wine, eyes peering at him over the glass.

Yes, he's gay, although willing to sleep with women as long as they satisfy his desires first.

* * *

Personally, I do prefer men and understand the slight prompts to alert one man about the others tastes.

James is thoroughly absorbed in me, his eyes not darting to the surroundings, or people passing by.

* * *

I catch his subtle glances at my lips. I give back, picking up my wine glass, my tongue rounding the rim. The meal over, I offer to pay the bill, but he resists.

          "I acquiesce but insist on a revisit. Would next week some time be fine?"

Standing up when I do, his both hands on my shoulders," Mycroft, let's firm it up. Next Tuesday at six, here?"

A faint smile is all I need to give him, the message sent by my eyes.

          "Next Tuesday it is."

Embracing me with a quick hug, we stride out together.

James is a touchy, feely person and I'm self-confident the seduction has begun.

* * *

Saturday I've got a few meetings to attend to and finish off by early evening.

Anthea, my assistant, has already left the office and the quiet of it sends my thoughts to my aloneness which I have found, up until now to be tolerable.

My reaction to my fellow human beings is one of avoidance.

Tonight I'm at odds with this notion.

* * *

I send a text to Gregory Lestrade asking if he'd like to have dinner with me. Gregory is divorced, living alone, and a good companion.

          "Would love it. Have only leftovers in the refrigerator. Where?'

          " I'll pick you up. Ten minutes."

My car arrives at his flat. He's already outside and waiting.

          "Glad you thought about me. I was getting bored with sitting around on my own. And the leftovers didn't seem appealing. Where to?"

          "Chinese suit you?"

          "Great. As long as it's someplace where I won't feel underdressed."

I divest myself of my jacket and vest, and Gregory nods his approval.

A small Chinese place on the outskirts of London where I've been before, the food being very authentic.

* * *

          "How's the government? Still standing I presume."

          "Same as your police work. Ninety percent paperwork."

          "Glad I have my crew to take care of most of it."

          "I have my assistant Anthea."

          "I've seen her at some of the crime scenes. Nice looking woman."

          "Hinting, Gregory?"

          "Not really, Mycroft. Although I thought you and she were-"

I shake my head no.

          "Strictly business."

At that Gregory snaps his head up, and, am I reading more into his face? The tilt of his head, asking a silent question?

Is he? Bisexual? Interested in me?

* * *

We're finishing up the dessert of green tea ice cream when I hear my name called from the front of the restaurant.

Walking over to the table with another gentleman, a big smile on his face is James.

          "Surprise, what are-no that's a common thing to ask. You're here to eat this good food."

          "James Moriarty, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade."

          "Hi. Good to meet you, Mister Moriarty," his manner cool.

James doesn't introduce us to the man with him, almost ignoring him.

          "Mycroft, you're looking good," he bends down, whispering in my ear," he's not your type, my friend."

Gregory knows of James' reputation. He's arrested him numerous times without being able to hold him in jail.

The casual way James is acting toward me is confusing Gregory.

* * *

          "Gregory and I were leaving now. Have a good meal," I say, no emotion in my voice.

Standing up and nodding for Gregory to do so, James takes hold of my arm.

          "I'll text you soon," loudly and with a knowing stare at Gregory.

* * *

Once in the car, "Gregory, don't-. I know what I'm doing."

          "Wish you'd let me in on it. He's a dangerous man."

Peering at him with a smile, "I've handled many a dangerous man before."

          "I know you have. Although with him I don't understand-."

          "Don't try, Gregory. Trust me."

* * *

He steps out of the car, "Will I be able to join you again? I like your company."

          "I do also, but engagements will be keeping me out of the social circle for a while."

His hand reaches in and clasps mine, gripping it tight.

          " I like you, Mycroft. If I'm too bold-"

          "No, you're not. It's mutual but I can't at this time."

He sighs, removes his hand and I watch him as he opens the building to his flat.

Business before pleasure, Mycroft.

And jim Moriarty is my first business.

* * *

_Mycroft, join me for a movie and dinner on Wednesday_

It's a text from James.

          _I don't visit movie theatres. No interest_

          _Darkest Hour. About Winston Churchill and Dunkirk_

          _Acceptable_

We agree on an Italian restaurant next door to the theatre.

* * *

This evening I maintain a cool distance, which leads him to lean into me more, cocking his head to one side, confused.

          "Mister Holmes, you intrigue me. You're so opposite your brother. Always keeping a distance, so I don't know what to make of you, or why are you now involved with me."

          "James, yes, we are opposites and-."

Giving a slight grin, "and opposites attract, right?"

He walked into that. Let him ponder on the implication.

* * *

Days later I have to meet Gregory in his office. We've always maintained a friendly but businesslike demeanor in public.

          "What is this with you and Moriarty?" Can't picture you as a couple, so why the socializing?"

He's jealous! Can't conceal it! Wish I could alleviate his fears, but it's impossible.

* * *

          "I have my reason. Don't inquire further. I won't give you an answer."

          "Some hush-hush investigation?"

Guilty that I can't confide I try to eliminate any confusion.

          "Gregory, as much as I enjoy our little outings I have to beg off for a time. You are correct in your intuition. No matter what happens I want you to know-", and I can't go any further. 

Can't reveal how I feel towards him. Not yet.

Gregory nods his head but there's bewilderment in his eyes.

* * *

          _Mycroft, can you meet me for lunch today at Vivian's cafe?_

James' text is received just as I'm getting into my car to head to my office.

          _I have a lunch appointment already set._

          _How about three at the cafe_

          _That would be good_

* * *

The cafe, within walking distance from the building I'm in and the day is nice. 

There are moments in my life I wish I could be any one of the people I see on the street. Able to appreciate their life. To go and take their pleasure in the simpler recreations.

For me it's always business.

* * *

          "Good you could come."

          "Sit, James. I do not need a kings welcome every time we meet."

          "Coffee, tea?"

          "Tea, darjeeling please,"as the waitress comes over.

          "Same and bring some of those beautiful biscuits I see on the counter."

          " James, what do you-?"

          "My, you have to get right down to it, don't you? No small talk about the family or stuff like that."

          "I know enough about you. You have a sister. Both parents are gone. Your sister is a journalist with a leading paper."

          "Did your homework on me, didn't you?"

I decline to answer that. No need. He knows I have a dossier on him.

* * *

Tea is brought, and a plate of the currants and chocolate biscuits and each of us take one.

I time it, so my hand touches his, sliding along, an almost caress.

          "Mycroft, I suspect that you're playing a game with me. From observations of me, you know I desire your brother. But, you don't want me near him. So, be straight with me. What's up?"

A crucial moment.

          " You've mentioned that we are opposites. That side has attracted me. You could say I'm curious."

          "You're playing with me aren't you? Teasing me. "

          "No. I'm honest. Is that so hard to believe?"

Deep down inside I'm a bundle of nerves. I need him to see truthfulness.

Putting his elbows on the table he stares, trying to see inside me, inside my facade. A give a half smile and turn my face down, trying to show embarrassment.

          "But, James, you did not bring me here to discuss our relationship did you?"

          "Why not?"

With a nod of his head, sipping his tea, he puts the cup down, leans in towards me, mouth twisted, simpering.

          "Is the great Mycroft Holmes saying he's obsessed with me?"

          " In all honesty, I would not go that far. Just say I find you riveting."

          "Care to see more?" as his hand reaches to mine on the table.

I gently pull away as if he's slightly offended me.

          "I would be pleased to have more time to spend in your company. For now."

He leans back in his chair, tipping it and rocking back and forth. Tilting his head back he gives out with a laugh.

          "Mycroft, you are more fun than your brother. You don't speak the words, but you certainly know me. You are my opposite. You're cool and collected."

Sitting the chair upright again, he bends in towards me, whispering, "And to be honest with you, I'd love to see how that translates in bed."

          "Excuse me Mister Moriarty! That's unthinkable, highly unlikely!"

This is definitely going better than I thought.

* * *

          "I have to be going. The bill is on me," as he stands, and then turns back," wait, how about a drink tomorrow night?"

          "I don't care for-"

          "Oh right. You wouldn't like noisy, sweaty pubs. How about the Carlton Hotel Bar at nine?"

          "That would be acceptable. Meet you there."

He calmly walks to the door, opens it, stops and gives me a wave. Can't help but looking amused. 

* * *

I sit, trying to get my equilibrium back. Mycroft you don't know what you're getting yourself into.

How far are you going to go to keep your brother safe? As far as I have to.

* * *

I explain, to the prime minister, while sitting in her rather large office, what I'm about to do. She understands and will go along with me.

* * *

          "I'm quite worried about you, Mister Holmes. You know we haven't been able to charge Mister Moriarty with anything that will hold him in a penal institute?"

          "Yes, I understand. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

          "And besides, I have some news. I was going to, no I have to send you to New York City for a few months on an assignment. I can't change it now. You will leave in two weeks."

That's distressing news to hear. Now what? I must go on this mission.

          "Thank you and I'll get all the pertinent information from your secretary."

          "Enjoy your trip. Do get in some sightseeing while there."

* * *

The Carlton Hotel is old, with the facade crumbling outside. Inside has been remodeled and gives off an appearance of old school with heavy gold columns, polished marble floors and huge planters with live greenery strewn around the entryway.

I'm early to the meeting and order a whiskey cocktail while taking a table for two against the window. 

It's quiet in the room, not many people around. Two couples at tables and one lone man sitting at the bar.

James saunters in, looks around and sees me. A smugness, eyebrows raised, as he signals the waiter for a drink.

          "How are you this evening?" his every move is intentionally meant to stimulate me. Pelvis leading, eye contact, hand on my shoulder, lingering, legs crossing slowly.

I playfully respond by letting my eyes wander up and down his body as he sits down.

          "In a good mood I see."

          "The news I have is not good. At least not for us continuing our association," my eyes dropping as if in distress.

          " Oh, it must be bad if we're starting off the evening with it."

          "I'm asked to go on a mission to New York, and it means being away months."

          "Oh, that's not good news. At least not for-"

I've planned this out well, and if I can keep my features composed all will work fine, I hope.

* * *

We sit, not talking, my glass in hand, slowly sipping, the waiter bringing James his whiskey.

          "I tell you what-no, this would not be a good idea. No, not good James."

Dropping my head to gaze into my empty glass, James summons the waiter.

          "Fill my man up with whatever he was drinking please."

Taking a breath and shifting closer to me, his elbows on the table, he stares, but my eyes stay off him.

          "Okay, this sounds big. Hit me with it."

          "Would you contemplate traveling with me and staying in New York for some time? That's if your business will allow it."

The suddenness of his leaning back almost makes him tumble out of his chair.

          "Holy shit! Mycroft, you surprise the effing hell out of me! What the fuck, sorry, am I supposed to say to that?"

I say nothing. My heart beating like a drum.

He finishes his drink in one gulp, and as the waiter brings mine he asks for a straight whiskey.

Neither of us gives any indication of the other, neither of us addresses the issue.

Much time passes, and I begin to think that James will decline. Part of me hopes that at least.

          "Ah what the shit! I think I can make it. Don't know how long but why not. Questions I need answering, please. Besides the where and when, what else is expected of me?"

          " Be my companion, sightsee with me. That's all."

          "Shit, hell yea. No beddy-bye?"

Disregarding that remark, "James, I need an associate with me, and you know how to comport yourself in business situations. That would be my other expectation of you."

          "That's my Mycroft, ever evading the important question. Okay, I'll take you up on this. You've got me, with or without the action. In bed I mean"

Breathing a sigh of relief, sort of, we discuss the particulars and agree that James can leave with me. I'll make all the travel arrangements.


	2. A Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries.

John, Sherlock and I walk out into the drizzly afternoon street.

          " I don't understand. What is going on with your brother, Sherlock?"

          "This is a total mystery to me Greg. I can't perceive any reasoning for it. If he drank or took drugs I would attribute it to that."

John gives a cackle. But I'm not amused.

          "Well, nothing we can do gentleman. Shall we go get something to eat?" John replies, looking sorrowfully at me.

          "If you don't mind, I'm going home. Sorry to spoil your afternoon."

I wave goodbye and open my car door. I'm stepping in when John leans down.

          " Greg, have a care. Wish I could say more."

I nod, start the car and head home.

* * *

Once in the flat, I take off my coat, toe off my shoes and slouch on the sofa. Yes, I care for the man a lot.

I had thought, before James, that we were heading, if not towards a romantic entanglement, then a good friendship.

Ah well, it's over. Whatever it was. I so want to drown in a few drinks but I know better.

Taking the remote in hand I turn on the telly to watch whatever is on. Hoping that I'll forget this whole matter.

* * *

The next morning I'm heading into the office when I have an idea.

I send a text to Mycroft.

_Can we meet and talk_

_Sorry, too busy._

_Can we talk on the phone_

_Give me fifteen minutes and I'll call you_

My mobile rings, and my heart, I find, is beating strong.

          "Yes Gregory what is it?"

          " Mycroft, I thought we had- you know-," and I give a big breath out.

I hear an intake of breath from him.

          "Gregory, why not come to my house tonight? I'll cook us a meal and we'll enjoy that whiskey you like." I hear how soft his voice is, and how tender he's trying to be.

          "I'll be there. Get out of your three-piece and let your hair down. Some laughing is in order."

          "Gregory Lestrade, you don't know how well those thoughts ring with me."

* * *

I've gone out and bought his favorite ice cream. Chocolate chip. Some cherries and whipped cream.

At the door, I hand them to his manservant and step into the library to see Mycroft wearing jeans, and a black button-down shirt.

* * *

          "Wow! Never thought for one second I'd see you in jeans!"

          "I own a few pair, generally to wear around the house," pouring me a glass of my favorite whiskey.

          "I planned for us to eat in the kitchen, less formal."

          "I bought ice cream and fixings for us."

* * *

If I could describe his kitchen it would be 'over the top'. There are two of all the big appliances, a twelve-foot-long center island with butcher block top. And a table to seat six people. The decorations are plain, pots hanging, plants hanging, a ceiling rack that holds glasses of all sizes. The room is painted in a very pale blue, with white trim.

* * *

          "I wish I had more time to cook large dinners. It's one of my guilty pleasures."

Mycroft is a fantastic cook. I've had the pleasure of tasting his home cooking twice so far.

* * *

Our meal consisted of a tossed green salad, filet mignon steak, baked sweet corn, green beans with his homemade sourdough bread.

* * *

Dinner is finished and I help him clean up, another chore he enjoys doing himself.

* * *

I take the ice cream and fixings out, laying it all on the island.

          "Okay, Mycroft, dig in."

We even have special ice cream bowls to use.

All the ice cream is ready to devour, "Wait, I have the best thing for this."

Out of a cabinet, takes a glass decanter of Baileys which he proceeds to pour on top of the confection.

          "Great idea!" laughing at this.

          "Into the library and we can be seated by the fire."

* * *

Pulling our armchairs close to one another and a small table between us, I witness Mycroft so laid-back, so informal. I don't usually see him this way.

Reaching over I take the cherry off my ice cream and with my fingers, reach to him,"Say ah!"

With a startled expression he opens his mouth and I drop the cherry in.

          "Turnabout, Gregory," proceeding to do the same to me with his cherry.

          "There's a crude joke about our cherries being broken, and it would be relevant if we were younger," biting my lip as I understand I might have gone too far.

          "I'm sure, Gregory Lestrade, that our cherries were broken ages ago, and with both genders," playfully, eyes lit up, his mouth twitching in a smirk.

There's a pause, and quiet that comes to us, taking time to eat our dessert, avoiding each other's eyes.

* * *

It's days later when I call Mycroft knowing that he'll be leaving tomorrow.

          "Can we keep in touch Mycroft, while you're in America?"

          "Not sure whether my clearance will allow me to. Even speaking to Sherlock will be difficult. If I can arrange it, I will."

          "Okay,- have a good trip," and I hang up, terribly disappointed.

He sounded so cold, so far away from me.


	3. Here Comes New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Mycroft in New York

I had to hang up on Gregory. I would have lost my self-control. My mobile in hand, I keep staring at it, wanting to call back and, and do or say what-?

Nothing I can do now. The wheels are in motion.

* * *

James and I are now constant companions. We discuss arrangements and spend time discussing sights to see and do when not working.

I've arranged for us to receive a small stipend, plus two charge cards for clothes and food.

* * *

          " I must say Mycroft, you travel in style. I'm going to enjoy this trip very much."

          " Remember our first priority is meeting with top officials to discuss trade agreements."

          "I know. And all discussions are to be okayed by you first."

* * *

Every once in awhile James clowns about our entanglement being more than just business. I'm still trying to keep that low key. If I can avoid it I will.

          " We are staying at the Waldorf in a suite of rooms. Two bedrooms and an adjoining sitting room."

          " Do I take PJs or can I walk around nakey?"

I laugh at his silliness. It's a part of him I have begun to enjoy.

          "Wear what you will, my eyes will be on your face."

          "Don't you even want to see my package?"

I heave a sigh and Jim cackles.

          "Okay, I'll cut it out. But, you don't know what you're missing", his hand clutching at his crotch, shaking it.

His humor is one I both enjoy and shutter at.

* * *

On the plane, flying first class, James is quiet. I think he is just now beginning to understand what is really happening.

          "Mycroft, do you really think I can hold my own amidst all these politicians and businessmen? After all, these are smarter than any of my blokes I work with. Plus they're upper crust."

          " I know you and have every confidence you'll handle yourself well. Would never have asked you otherwise."

He leans his head on my shoulder.

          "You say the nicest things," a teasing in his voice.

* * *

Once in our hotel, we're both tired from the long plane ride and it's night here in the city.

          "Let's turn in. Tomorrow we'll go out and buy a wardrobe for both of us."

          "Mycroft, a favor. When we do start meeting these men stay with me for a few minutes. To get over my jitters."

I smile and understand and head to my bedroom and fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

I wake and look at my phone. It's noon here in New York.

I shower and dress in brown trousers and tan shirt, a green tie. Walk out to the sitting room to see James already dressed and reading a newspaper.

He stands and brushes his hands down his body, and looks up at me.

          "Is this appropriate for today? And I ordered some food for us which should be up in about half an hour."

          "Thank you James, and yes this is good. I thought we'd go and buy some clothing and have dinner out. Glad you thought to order food. I'm hungry."

He beams, enjoying the fact he's done something right. Like a child.

He's wearing black trousers, a blue shirt, no tie.

          "Mycroft, take the tie off. No need for it if we're not doing much."

I consent, sit and take up a piece of the New York Times newspaper to read.

* * *

We're in a taxicab fighting the traffic of Manhattan. Ending up at the Dover Street Market. This store began its life in London and I know they carry the kind of clothes I would wear.

* * *

James is trying his best not to gawk. He covertly tries to find price tags and I have to enjoy a laugh when he finds none.

I have had our measurements sent over from London so it only involves finding what we like and having it sent to our hotel.

* * *

While at the clothier, the staff brings us tea and petite sandwiches for lunch.

James sits on the edge of a small padded chair, his excitement so evident.

          "Damn, I never imagined it could be like this."

          "Oh after a while it becomes normal, boring sometimes."

          "Make it normal for me and even boring, please," James replies.

* * *

We have two days with no meetings and the first place we take in is the Museum of Natural History. It's so large we can't see all of it in one day.

* * *

I have tickets to Broadway shows which we'll see during the months we're here.

* * *

I'm enjoying James' company, and it's surprising to me. He ogles openly at everything. Exclaims joyously, throwing himself head first. He questions, learning as we take in the sights.

* * *

The 9-11 Memorial is our trip the next day. James is unusually silent while we walk around the fountains.

          "Did you know of anyone killed during this Mycroft?"

          "No, James. But it affected many of the businesses we dealt with here."

I know that part of James' organization has its killers as mine does. It's hired assassins. But this is a scale we never imagine.

* * *

At dinner at Sardis, I try to find out what's bothering him. He's been very quiet after visiting the memorial. Almost too quiet.

          "You know, Mycroft, in your business you sometimes have people coldly killed. I know that. Sometimes I have to also. And we leave the dirty work to others, never doing it ourselves."

Nothing I can say will change that because he is right.

We change the subject to the next day and our beginnings of the business meetings we have planned.

* * *

It's a Tuesday morning and our round of conclaves will begin this afternoon.

          "I'm so nervous I can't eat anything. And what to wear."

          "Calm down. Eat light. And then into your closet."

I've coached James on what questions to ask, what to avoid, and how to be aware of his surroundings.

* * *

After a light breakfast James and I step into his bedroom and I look into his closet, taking two suits off the hanger.

          "Try these on and let's see."

I should know better. He strips out of his PJs, nothing on under. I turn away quickly, and he gives out with a laugh.

          "I'll throw on some pants. You don't have to see my privates," still chuckling."

One suit decided on. A black pin-stripe, then a grey shirt and light blue tie.

He does cut quite a good figure, I admit.

* * *

For the next days it's a whirlwind of meetings, dinners, more meetings, and more dinners.

* * *

Friday we have open and manage to visit the Guggenheim Art Museum.

I considered not going. Not sure how much James would enjoy.

Again I judged him wrong. At every turn, every picture he had his own deductions, his own version of what he was observing. 

Sometimes even asking the other patrons their assumptions. He constantly surprises, astonishes me.

* * *

We've been asked to dinner at the Ambassador to Londons house. The outside is ornate and inside has the feel of a palace.

There are diamonds, flashy dresses and enormous amounts of food and drink.

* * *

I'm standing with the ambassador, an army major, and three other men when James comes over and locks his arm around mine, leaning in close.

At first I think he's had to much drink but his breath is clean.

Trying to be inconspicuous I release myself from him.

          "Mycroft, I haven't been formally introduced to the major. Would you do me the honors?"

He shakes hands as I do and again leans into me. What is he doing?

I'm embarrassed at his behavior, but at the moment can't change anything without eyebrow being raised.

For the rest of the time, I'm conversing with the major James continues to touch my arm, grab my hand to keep as close to my space as he can.

* * *

Once we take our leave and in the taxi I confront him.

          "What did you think you were doing? While we were with the major?"

          "Oh shit, Mycroft, didn't you notice the army major and his adjutant are gay?"

          "No. What does that have to do with your shenanigans? Oh wait, were you trying to suggest that we were a couple?"

          "Why not? We're going to get invited to the major's house. Watch and see."

"James. I'm not here to socialize. All these dinners are business involved."

          "But, James and Mycroft need some fun. Together," nudging me with his arm.

* * *

Once in the hotel room, I turn on him.

          "James Moriarty, you will not proclaim us a couple. Do you understand?" fury in my voice.

          "Yes daddy,' he hangs his head and moves his body around like a child would.

          "Stop this!" and I make for my bedroom.

* * *

Little did I know that the encounter with the major would have disastrous results later as far reaching as London.

* * *

What I never expected was the turn-on I was experiencing when he acted in this way. Playful, flirtatious.

* * *

I received a text from my office informing me they had a plan worked out to take down James organization, including him.

Did I want this now? It had to be. I had to remind myself he was not the innocent man, the child he pretended to be.

* * *

I had tickets for us to see the Broadway play, Hamilton. Frightfully hard to get but thanks to knowing a few people we are in box seats.

* * *

James was hanging over the railing the whole time, entranced with the hip-hop music and during the intermission watching the crowds, pointing out celebrities he recognized.

* * *

Going backstage later, to be introduced to the cast, the room is so crowded with people it's hard to move around.

And, much to my chagrin the Major and his man were there. James cornered them and I left to talk to the cast.

* * *

Dragging James away from the men I introduce him to the man playing Hamilton, Michael Luwoye and James begins to ask questions about being an actor.

It's two in the morning by the time the majority of people, including us, leaves and in the taxi, James puts his head on my shoulder and falls asleep.

Out into our suite, "I'm calling the desk to arrange for a no call in the morning. We can sleep in."

All the young man can do is nod his head as he shucks off his clothes on the way to his room.

* * *

By the time both of us wake it's almost noon. James suggests we eat out. I suggest a light lunch in an outdoor cafe and a stroll down Fifth Avenue.

          " I have reservations for a special dinner tonight."

          "What to wear?"

          "James, always a suit. You can divest yourself of the jacket and tie if needed."

Pulling up to Benihana's James gives me a big smile.

          "I know of this place. Heard so much about it." 

Taking a seat at the hibachi table with two couples James, his usual open self, starts the introductions.

The grill is in the center of the u-shaped table with us sitting around it. The chef stands in the middle cooking the food on a grill that is 500 degrees. We feel the heat from our seats.

I order sake for us and watch James as he tastes it from the small ceramic cup.

          "Okay what is it made of"

          "It's not a wine and made from rice. I don't know how to describe it. Sip it." 

* * *

The chef comes out and proceeds to show off his skill with juggling the knives, cutting the vegetables, make pictures with the rice frying, all the theatrical tricks. He takes a piece of shrimp and lobs it at one of the women to catch in her mouth. She misses. He tries again and then goes around to all of us. I catch it first try and so does James.

The food is delicious, the company good, we finish, and our hotel and sleep is next.


	4. Last Days in New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster for James and Mycroft

We've been in New York for almost five months and it's about three more weeks before it's home to England.

* * *

We've concluded, very successfully much of my business and James has gotten some good referrals for what he thinks is his growing business.

I even feel compassion and sorrow towards him.

* * *

I hear from my office that our plan for James is working well. He will be sending illegal drugs to London from New York Harbor. The authorities have been notified to let it go through when the time arrives. He's falling into the trap and doesn't know it.

Might even be taken before we reach England. I pretend I know nothing of this. It's definitely hard now that I've gotten to know him so well.

* * *

The mail comes to our suite one day and James grabs it quickly. Scanning through he picks up a red envelope.

          "I've been waiting for this," tearing it open eagerly.

          "What is it?" sitting comfortably in my chair with a crossword puzzle book open.

          "We have an invitation to the fall costume ball hosted by the major in two weeks time. They've rented an Italian hall for the occasion."

          "Why would I want to get dressed up in some silly costume? And it appears you've been in contact with them."

          "Yes, I've been in touch with the major. It's a big deal for the end of the summer season. I'd love for us to go, Mycroft," his voice pleading. 

Putting down the book I see the earnest look on him. Over these months I've become very fond of this man, with his childish enthusiasm.

          "Yes, I'll go", expecting him to jump up and down in excitement.

Instead, he comes to the chair and placing both hands on the arms, leaning into me, a mischievous grin.

          "What would you be wearing?"

          "Don't know. You just sprang this on me."

          "Maybe we can go as a duo. You know, a prince and princess, a hero and villain."

          "Prince and princess? What an odd idea. Who would be the princess?"

His hand touches my cheek, "would love to see you in a wig of golden curls."

          "No, not for an instant. James, for a grown man you have a most childish sense of humor."

          "And you love it, you know," his face close to mine.

          "I'll decide my own costume without your help."

* * *

I locate a costume shop in Manhattan, and it's decided to spend a morning trying on costumes, have a quick lunch and see the Museum of the Moving Images.

* * *

We're not showing each other our costumes until the nights reveal. I've got a Robin Hood outfit, green loose-fitting shirt, green tights, with black ballet slippers, topped off by the usual peaked green hat with a feather.

* * *

The Museum is an idea of James. He saw a brochure at the hotel.

It's outside of Manhattan and a rented car with driver was hired. The museum is devoted exclusively to the history, art, and technology of movies, television, and video. It is so delightful and appealing to both of us that we drive there again the next day.

* * *

The night of the ball I'm beginning to have doubts about my costume.

It's too revealing, too tight, and not what I would have worn at home in England. But, in England, I had never been to a costume party.

* * *

Dressed and ready I step outside my bedroom, seeing James standing and waiting for me, and both of us burst into laughter. 

Jim is wearing the same outfit except his shirt is brown.

          "What a strange coincidence," walking around me, "and your ass, my my, and blushing also."

          "Please stop James. I feel quite the fool in this outfit. Don't know why I chose it."

          "Getting down to earth as the rest of the humans are, that's what it is. Feeling comfortable in your skin."

* * *

I hustled us out to our limo, rented for the evening, my coat draped over me, even though the air is warm.

          "Is my Robin Hood going to keep a watch on this Robin Hood's ass?"

          "If you need supervising I would do it."

          "I meant, Mister Holmes, are you going to be sneaking peeks at my ass in these tights as I will yours?"

James keeps up a constant teasing in the first few minutes, then there's silence for the hour ride outside of Manhattan.

* * *

We enter the hall and its renaissance look is classic. White statues and columns, not marble but probably plastic or ceramic surround the walls. Urns with greenery and on the tables small urn-looking vases.

The kind of decoration that I consider cheesy and cheap.

* * *

A dance floor, a DJ, and tables set for thirty people. It is small but seemingly comfortable.

One side of the hall is a long table with food. Next to it is the bar.

* * *

          "Come, let's get something to eat and find our hosts." 

Pulling me by the hand we encounter the major and his boyfriend before we get to the buffet.

James gives them hugs, and when it's my turn I flinch when they commence to hug me.

James giggles, "he's not a touchy type."

I excuse myself, leaving James with them, get a drink and move over to the buffet.

* * *

James joins me, "come on, loosen up for tonight."

          "Are they all gay and lesbian here?"

          "Probably." 

Back at the table, no seating arrangements, another two men are sitting and we introduce ourselves.

James engages them in conversation as I sit and eat. Still not comfortable in my suit or the atmosphere.

I'm back up getting a second on my drink and find the major at my side at the bar.

          "When are you going back to England? I'm assuming James is going with you."

          "We leave in two weeks and yes, he's coming home also. We've enjoyed our time here though."

          "Speaking of, here comes James."

          "Mycroft, dance with me."

          "I don't dance, as you know."

          "Oh, don't worry. It's a fast one. Just stand on the floor and jiggle," as he's pulling me away from the major.

Not wanting to make a scene, and knowing full well James would contrive one, I follow him. No sooner do we get out there, the music stops and begins a slow dance.

          "Don't, please don't."

          "Mycroft, just this once. Dance with me, hold me." 

I can't resist when he gives me his little boy look. I take him in my arms and begin to lead, keeping a good distance between us.

The song is 'My Heart Will Go On' by Celine Dion. James is humming it and he pulls in closer, holding onto me tightly.

He sings as he looks into my face 'You're here, there's nothing I fear And I know that my heart will go on'.

His head rests on my shoulder and I place my head on his hair, not dancing just swaying to the music.

James is making a statement to me, without coming directly out with it.

My own heart is breaking knowing this evening might be our last. I don't love him but feel a strong attachment.

Deep inside he's like a child, and if I had more knowledge beforehand of the inner workings of him, I might have stopped all this. It's too late now.

* * *

Photographs have been taken throughout the night and the dance floor couples are no exception. I pay the photographers no mind.

Back at the hotel suite, I'm ready to go to my bedroom,"Mycroft, sit with me?"

          "James, I'm tired." 

He approaches me, toe to toe, looks up and his lips touch mine softly, hesitantly.

          "No, no, James," his arm going around my neck and as I back up I hit the edge of the sofa and fall on it. 

He falls on top of me, pressing his legs against mine, rubbing, undulating.

One hand is still around my neck, pressing me into his kiss. I try to turn my head but to no avail.

Giving into my basic impulses I kiss him back, relaxing into it.

Caressing my face he's breathing heavy, and I can feel his excitement grow.

* * *

          "Mycroft, "he whispers, "Mycroft, please, let me-?" 

          "Not good. Stop before-"

          "Can't. Sofa or bed, Mycroft."

Everything drops away, the moment is all that matters.

          "Bed,"my voice husky.

His face turns ecstatic as he pulls me up and into the bedroom.

* * *

The night is full of love, giving in to all his wishes, sometimes tears falling, sometimes laughing.

* * *

I wake to find myself alone in the bed.

Pulling on a robe I wander into the sitting room where James is, breakfast on the table.

He stands, walks to me, his face questioning. I lean into him for a brief kiss. 

We're sitting down to eat when there's a knock on the door, James standing, tightening his robe and opens the door.

* * *

There are four men, two policemen, one has a badge opened up.

          "FBI, James Moriarty, I arrest you for illegal smuggling drugs out of the country, tampering with customs." 

They enter and one takes James' arm. James turns to face me, first questioning, then begging, then anger with a sneer crossing his face.

My shoulders slump as I look away. Anyplace but his face.

* * *

          "You slut, you whore, you set me up, didn't you?"

          "Please get dressed, Mister Moriarty."

He pulls away from the officer and steps up close to me.

          "You fucking bastard, did any of it mean anything?"

          "Last night did," barely in a whisper.

          "Last night only? Got your kicks did you? Fucker."

          "All the time we spent, culminating with last night, I mean."

          "Shitting bastard," as he moves away, spins back and slaps my face hard, and again.

* * *

The police jump over, grabbing his body, jerking him away from me.

I raise my hand, "no, I deserved it. Let him be."

James turns away to his bedroom, his door slamming so hard it shakes the glassware on the sideboard.

Stepping to my bedroom door, one of the FBI agents stops me.

          "Mister Holmes, do you need anything?"

"No, thank you."


	5. Newspaper Headlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has lost himself

I hear the outer door shut minutes later, take my bags out from the closet, and without looking throw my clothes and few toiletries in as rapidly as I can.

* * *

While packing tears run down my face.

I'm overcome with emotions I never expected to feel.

My affection for James ran deeper than I ever considered would occur to me.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes, you're a fool! How did you ever let your guard down! The first time in many years I've let sympathy and warmth enter a business arrangement.

* * *

          "Kennedy Airport, please," in a taxi.

It didn't matter that I had no reservations. Whatever plane seat was available, not caring whether it's first class or on the wing, I wanted away from New York.

* * *

No one knew of my early departure, and when I arrived in London I went straight to my house, surprising my servants.

* * *

It took three days to take control of myself, to tamp down the dramatics enough to leave my house. During this time I spent it in bed reading. Events of the world could wait right now.

* * *

Stepping into the building that housed my suite of offices, it seems that people are turning away from me, or even have a smugness about them. Strange!

          "Mycroft,"Anthea, surprised at my arrival, "didn't expect you-."

          "I know," moving and closing the door behind me and leaving her standing outside.

She walks in and leans on the desk.

          "I've been pushing the reporters away and keeping any questions of the staff at bay."

Looking up at her, taking out my briefcase, "What are you ranting about?"

Her head bounces up, "Don't you know? Haven't you seen the Daily Mail newspaper?"

          "I don't read those type of newspapers."

Continuing to take papers out and sort them on my desk.

Anthea bounces out of the room and back in and drops the paper on my desk. No, she slams it down.

          "Read that and tell me what the hell is happening?"

The picture on the front page stops me short.

Its a picture of James and I dancing cheek to cheek in our costumes. 

The headline reads 'LOVE TURNS SOUR, BOYFRIEND BETRAYS'

It goes on to embellish the happenings of that terrible day in New York.

My name prominently splashed all over.

* * *

          "Oh dear, Anthea, please no questions."

          "What, no questions? I've had to field calls all week. And even from the ministry."

          "What have you been doing, Mycroft?" her voice strident, upset.

          "Haven't you looked at your phone at all? You must have tons of texts and emails."

Putting down the sheets, my hands squeeze tight, "Anthea, I've been through a trying time. I'll explain as soon as I can."

          "Do you care to elaborate for me?"

          "Anthea, you've been my compatriot for years. I have to sort all this," pointing down at the pages," and I will enlighten you. I promise it won't be pretty.

* * *

That picture, that night, all comes back to haunt me. To discredit me.

* * *

That evening, Sherlock and John walk into my house to confront me, newspaper in hand.

          "Mycroft, the one known as the Iceman, the brother who's been so careful with his facade. What have you wrought?" mocking me.

          "Be kind for God's sake! Before you throw things out at him. Find out what went on."

          " Sherlock, in trying to protect you and John from Moriarty I got caught in my trap, and that's all I'm willing to confess."

          "You got entangled with this madman?"

          "Stop this!. When you're ready, Mycroft, I think your brother deserves an explanation."

His hand is on my shoulder, patting it.

          "You and the whole world, apparently." I draw in a breath.

          "We're going. If you need us call." 

Need them? I need someone so desperately. And it's not my brother.

I place the call.

          "Greogry, it's Mycroft."

          "You knew how to handle him alright. Did a fair job of it didn't you?"

          "Can I explain it in person to you."

          "No. You've explained it very well. In a picture." And he hangs up.

My fist goes deep into the cushions of the chair. Damn, I've lost. Lost face, lost a good companion, lost love, lost everything.


	6. How To Cope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does Mycroft get out of this.

The year unfolds in front of me in slow motion. Newspaper reporters constantly haunt my home and office, looking for a story. I brush them off.

* * *

James' trial is on, but I refuse, no cannot go. I can't confront his glaring eyes. Worse still I can't confront my guilt in bringing him down.

Gregory refuses my phone calls, my texts, and even when we work together, he's all business. I try to draw him to one side, he walks away.

* * *

Sherlock and John are still a team solving crimes with the police department, and it's obvious to all they are in love.

I'm content, well, as content as I can be, to continue my lonely life.

* * *

I've refused to travel this year, letting my agents go in my stead.

          "Mycroft, you have a visitor. She refuses to give her name. I think I know who she is. Suggest you see her," Anthea opens the door to allow Janine Moriarty into my inner office. I stand and shake hands.

          "I know about you, Miss Moriarty. Please have a seat. Would you like a drink?"

What a beautiful Irish woman! Long black curly hair, clean, slim figure, with a face that reminds me of James.

          "Janine if you please. No need for niceties. I will come to the point. I'd like you to visit James. Talk to him. Be his friend."

I don't take the seat behind my desk, but one near her.

Staring down at my hands, understanding this is an awkward moment for the both of us, I don't have the words to explain all that transpired.

* * *

She leans into me, taking one of my hands into hers.

          "He is so in love with you. He worshipped you. I can't believe that what you did was so cold-hearted as the press plays it to be."

          "It started that way, but ended so differently, I assure you."

          "At first he couldn't stop cursing you, but now in my conversations with him, he understands more. He'll see you. I know that." 

Rising, she puts out her hand, and we shake.

          "I promise you I'll visit him." 

And she walks out, a statuesque woman, indeed.

* * *

As usual, my status allows me to procure visitation with James for a whole afternoon and in a private room.

I dress carefully, in a three-piece grey pinstriped suit with a blue shirt and dark blue tie. He always loved me in blue.

I'm led into a dimly lit room with a table and two chairs. The walls are grey and look like they could use new paint.

* * *

A guard lets James in. He's wearing a white shirt, opened, and the standard grey prison pants.

His guard takes off the handcuffs and stands at the closed door. We cannot be alone.

James has not looked at me at all.

          "James?"

          "Fuck off."

          " Sit--please."

There are two plastic bottles of water on the table, and I take a seat and open both of them.

Still, with head hanging he takes the chair, then, tips it back and looks at me, pure hate in those eyes.

          "I'd like to disclose the events leading up to this and, if you can, I'd like to ask your forgiveness." 

Tipping the chair back, leaning on the table close enough to me that I see the guard stepping in closer towards us.

          "You think I'd ever condone what you did? You hustled me. Oh yea, you shithead, it was a good one. I hate your guts."

          "Then why this meeting? You could have refused."

He sits back, his stare becomes the little boy I so loved to see.

          "I admit, I do want to know why you did this. I have an idea, but why."

          "Ask all the questions you wish and I'll answer them. We have all afternoon."

          "Compliments of the queen I suppose," in a sarcastic tone. 

I'm sitting ramrod straight through all of this exchange, holding my sorrow and shame in check.

          "Go ahead, Mycroft, It's your ballgame. You start." 

Most of the time James is quiet, leaning away from me. Listening.

Once in awhile coming in with a question or a remark.

When I begin to discuss my emotions towards the end of our time together he cocks his head to one side, puts both elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands.

          "Really? You began to feel sorry that you started this? What would you have done then?"

          "I would not have interfered except if you hurt Sherlock in any way. But I look back on it and realize that you couldn't have come between Sherlock and John if you tried. Their love is solid."

          "And the costume ball? Was that real? Really how you felt? Including the night we spent?"

          "Although I'm not in love with you, as I've said before, that was genuine. All my feelings toward you came out at the costume ball and in that night." 

Pushing away from the table he stands up, the guard moves and I wave him away.

          " Is it possible for you to hold me in your arms?" 

What else can I do? I'm emotionally at his mercy.

He falls into my arms, the guard having his truncheon out, at the ready.

          "Be my friend, Mycroft, please," his face turned up, the little boy peering out from under eyes watery.

          " I make a solemn promise to you. I'll often visit, even write you and we'll be friends no matter what."

          " I still love you, Mycroft Holmes. Always will."

The guard, understanding that nothing bad will occur, turns his head away.

We kiss for long moments, him breaking away first.

          "Til next time, okay, Mycroft?" 

I nod, the emotion so deep I can't speak and watch him turn away to the guard and leave.

I send a letter of thank you to Janine explaining that her brother and I will be keeping in touch and it would be my pleasure if she occasionally takes dinner with me.

* * *

It is almost Christmas in London. The air is chilly, with the expectation of a cold snap coming our way.

* * *

Sherlock has paid me a visit inviting me to a party at their flat.

There's an unspoken question in the air which I do not attempt to ask.

I accept the invite and look forward to it with apprehension.

* * *

Climbing the stairs I hear voices already engaged in lively conversation. Entering, taking off my coat and hanging it up, I survey the people.

And there he is! Gregory!

I first approach Sherlock and John who are standing to chat with Mrs. Hudson, their landlady.

Sherlock yells across the room. "Greg, come say hello to my brother."

Damn him! Gregory walks over and bows, really makes a bow, "Hello," not meeting up with my face at all, and then walks away.

          "Sherlock, what did you expect?" John angrily says.

          "Trying to make peace, that's all."

I'm ready to leave when John shouts to all to quiet down.

          "We have an announcement to make. Sherlock and I are tying the knot."

Shouts of congratulations and it's about time break out.

          "We're not doing a big affair. Just us and our best men. But we will have a party in the spring to celebrate."

John takes my arm and quietly asks me to join him in the bedroom. I follow behind.

After we are in Sherlock and Greg follow and close the door.

* * *

          "Before you two have a fist fight Sherlock, and I want you to be our best men. So, you two will have to find a way to resolve any problems you have. For our sakes. Come on Sherlock," and the two of them walk out shutting the door. 

This was a setup, and I can't help but have a small grin on me.

* * *

          "What do we do Gregory? Can we turn them down? Can you?"

          "No we can't. Okay," his face coming up to meet mine, "how do we start?"

          "I would suggest a quiet evening at my house, where I can fully explain my actions to you. It would be your decision whether you want to further our talk or just be pleasant for their wedding."

He shuffles over to the window, looking out," the streets are quiet. There's talk of a real cold snap arriving. And yes, I'm stalling."

Walking back towards me he stands up close, "I want to punch you so badly."

          "Go ahead if it makes you feel better. Meantime the question at hand?"

          "Stop being so cold you miserable beast. Yes, I'll meet with you. No dinner, no drinks, just straight talk. And if I don't like what I hear- then I'll punch you out," turning on his heels and slamming the door quite hard.

I'm elated and scared. Will this turn out okay?

I cut the evening short after letting my brother know that Gregory and I will be talking.


	7. A New Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft

          _Saturday night good? at five Mycroft._

          _Have a conference until six, seven is good_

          _fine with me_

* * *

It's hard to concentrate while sitting at around the table with six ministers from the cabinet. All serious blank faces, all discussing world matters. I'm grateful Anthea is there to back me up, getting distracted so easily right now.

The endless back and forth, the countless papers being handed round the table over and over is setting my head to spin. How easy I managed all of this before the torrent of personal emotions took over.

* * *

It's six forty-eight before anyone gets out of their seat and I'm able to politely leave.

* * *

          "Go ahead, take the car, Mycroft. I'll take a taxi home.

          "Thanks Anthea. And I'm so glad you're around right now."

          " Mycroft, stick to the truth and it will turn out," Anthea says, without knowing my reason for being so inattentive.

She knows it has something to do with Gregory and is very sympathetic towards me.

* * *

          _I'm on my way_

          _I'm at your house already._

* * *

Gregory is sitting in a chair in the library staring at the fireplace.

          "Good evening Mycroft," without turning to see me or to rise up. 

Sitting in the armchair across from him, I cross my legs, uncross them, my hands not knowing where to light.

          "Nervous?" Not like you? And I'm not going to make this easy by feeling sorry for you."

          "I wouldn't expect any less of you," a breath escapes my lips.

Looking down at my feet, I begin to divulge all. To be honest.

          " I'll start by telling you that I suspected that James, er, Moriarty was sexually inclined towards my brother and would be interfering with the relationship between him and John.  
I felt John was a perfect foil for Sherlock and decided to turn James, I mean, Moriarty's head towards someone else. I couldn't feel comfortable assigning this to one of my agents-" at which, Gregory snorts.

          "Yea, like none of them had ever seduced for business reasons. And you can stop trying to push that man further away from you by calling him other than what you did. James, it is. Okay?" the dislike evident in the timbre of his voice. 

* * *

And as my story unfolds, piece by piece. Gregory slumps deeper in the chair, staring into any void except my face.

* * *

          "Do you mind if I get a glass of water, Gregory?"

          "Put some arsenic in it why don't you?" 

My heart breaks, but I continue. I explain how my feelings began to change, how boylike James was, how alive he made me feel.

          "Soap opera stuff. Why, why did you not send him home when you began to feel that way?" 

The torture of this is horrid. I have to let him know about my collusion with our government and the bringing down of Moriarty's organization. Even as it became evident I was losing James.

* * *

          "With due respect for you, Gregory, I'm not omitting anything that happened next. You need to hear the truth. After that, you may do as you wish."

          "Fire away. I wish I had a drink about now. Don't you?"

          "No. This is hard enough without the distraction of liquor." 

And so my journey into the costume ball begins.

* * *

At the point of the dance, the one that made the front page, Gregory stands, walks to the door.

          "Maybe I shouldn't hear this. Maybe I can't."

          "Shall I gloss over it? Let this hang between us?"

          "What do you mean, hang between us? Right now there is no between us," but he does come back to sit.

          "I knew, with an almost certainty that within the next two days James would be arrested. It was burdensome. I had grown to enjoy my time and his joy at life."

          "If you state that one more time I'm walking out."

          "At first we were fast dancing. Jumping around, not touching. The next song was the Celine Dion one, I can't remember the name." 

I really could remember, all too clearly, because of the moment, but didn't want Gregory flaring up.

          "You mean the Titanic one, my heart will go on?" 

I nod half-heartedly as if I don't quite remember.

* * *

          "He wouldn't let me go," a growl low in the throat from the man sitting across from me," and pulled me in close. That was the only slow dance we did. He didn't ask again."

          "So you stayed with him at that party? And nothing else happened between you two while there? "

          " I allowed him to hold my hand and once he placed his arm around me," pausing for a moment to take a sip of water.

          "Gregory, please let me stop now."

          " Oh no! I saw the police report. When they came for him you were both naked under those robes. I saw the report. I knew he threw some pretty hard words at you. What happened when you got back from the party? Continue."

          "Very simply put. We made love. No excuses, no reason other than my liking for the man and my feeling so, so guilty to be involved in his downfall. And that's all I can say in my defense." 

The uneasiness I felt, my stomach roiling, my head hurt. I sat and waited.

* * *

          "Mycroft Holmes, you're a piece of shit. You took two people's lives and played with them. Like we were your puppets."

Not having anything to say I press my lips together.

If eternity could be placed in this room then that is how long it felt, waiting, waiting for him to do or say anything.

* * *

          "One more thing, Gregory, I went to visit James in prison and intend to continue doing so. We also discussed our situation and have come to an agreement. He confessed he loves me and I told him the truth. I like him a great deal, but that's all."

          "You've given me the truth. Now I have to give it back. I'm not sure how I can think about you.  
Before you began with James I was ready to take a chance on finding love with you. Now, not sure. But for the sake of the wedding, I will keep it friendly."

He gets out of the chair and as I rise he says," no, don't get up I'll see myself out. And don't call me except for wedding plans. Got it?"

I don't answer and let him leave. Now I get up, take a drink and sit staring at the fire.

* * *

Sherlock calls to settle on where and when for the wedding.

It's to be held in a judge's chambers on Tuesday morning at eleven in three weeks. Suits are fine. And we'll go out for lunch after.

          "Have you called Gregory on this?"

          "John has already called and we are told you two will be civil to each other."

          "I'll meet you at City Hall.

* * *

In the small judges' chamber, the two men are glowing.

Sherlock gives me his ring to hold, John gives Gregory.

* * *

After the short ceremony and many hugs, we file out to the restaurant.

* * *

          "There's a special place we're going for lunch. It's Angelo's where John and I had our first date."

John laughs heartily, "it was not a date."

At the restaurant, I'm seated between Sherlock and Gregory. Angelo is all gushy and places a large size candle down.

          "To make up for all the times you 'weren't on a date'."

          " Greg, Mycroft, what do you think about this cold weather we're having?"

John's trying his best to get us to loosen up. He can tell we're not really talking to one another.

We both answer in one syllable responses.

* * *

The wine is poured and I stand, "A toast to the wonderful couple."

We all raise glasses and drink.

Sherlock stands, raises his glass," A toast to my brother and to a wonderful friend of ours. May they find happiness in whatever they endeavor."

And he looks pointedly at both of us.

Lunch over I ask Gregory,"would you mind it if I drive you home?"

          "I'm heading to my office but I will accept your offer." 

In the car, there's unease, tension. How to break this gap between us?

          " I would love a bottle of that Laphroaig whiskey you keep, Mycroft."

          " I'll send a bottle over."

          "And would the courier be you by chance?" facing straight ahead.

          "I can arrange that."

          "Would tomorrow night be too soon?"

          "The sooner the better Gregory."

It's a beginning. A start.


End file.
